"Let us hope for the Best," said Mr. Jump. * * * * * MORAL: The Queen of the May is usually a Woman. * * * * * _THE BATCH OF LETTERS, OR ONE DAY WITH A BUSY MAN_ One Morning an energetic little Man who had about a Ton of Work piled up on his Desk came down Town with a Hop, Skip and Jump determined to clean up the whole Lay-Out before Nightfall. He had taken eight hours of Slumber and a cold Dip in the Porcelain. After Breakfast he came out into the Spring Sunshine feeling as fit as a Fiddle and as snippy as a young Colt. "Me to the Office to get that Stack of Letters off my Mind," said the Hopeful Citizen. When he dashed into the Office he carried 220 pounds of Steam and was keen for the Attack. A tall Man with tan Whiskers arose from behind the roll-top Desk and greeted him. "How are you feeling this Morning?" asked the Stranger. "Swell and Sassy," was the Reply. "And yet, to-morrow you may join the Appendicitis Colony and day after to-morrow you may lie in the darkened Front Room with Floral Offerings on all sides," said the Stranger. "What you want is one of our non-reversible, twenty-year, pneumatic Policies with the Reserve Fund Clause. Kindly glance at this Chart. Suppose you take the reactionable Endowment with the special Proviso permitting the accumulation of both Premium and Interest. On a $10,000 Policy for 20 Years you make $8,800 clear, whether you live or die, while the Company loses $3,867.44 as you can see for yourself." "This is my--" began the Man. "Or, you may prefer the automatic tontine Policy with ball-bearings," continued the Death Angel. "In this case, the entire Residue goes into the Sinking Fund and draws Compound Interest. This is made possible under our new System of reducing Operating Expenses to a Minimum and putting the Executive Department into the Hands of well-known New York Financiers who do not seek Pecuniary Reward but are actuated by a Philanthropic Desire to do good to all Persons living west of the Alleghenies." "That will be about all from you," said the Man. "Mosey! Duck! Up an Alley!" "Then you don't care what becomes of your Family?" asked the Stranger, in a horrified Tone. "My Relatives are collecting all of their Money in Advance," said the Man. "If they are not worrying over the Future, I don't see why you should lose any Sleep." So the Solicitor went out and told every one along the Street that the Man lacked Foresight. At 9.30 o'clock the industrious little Man picked up letter number 1 and said to the Blonde Stenographer, "Dear Sir." At that moment the Head of the Credit Department hit him on the Back and said he had a Good One. It was all about little Frankie, the Only Child, the Phenom, the 40-pound Prodigy. [Illustration: _The New House._]